Erebor is for the Dwarves
by Eleanor Damaschke
Summary: Fem!BagginShield. AU. Hobbits don't belong in mountains. No matter what she did, it would never be her home. Not really. If only she could have apologized, explained. If only he hadn't banished her. But what's done is done. Hobbits don't belong in mountains. They never would.
1. Empty

The pony's hooves made dull echoes of the drums beating painfully inside her head. The Lake was behind her now, and in front of her, stretching into the distance, the road led south for leagues and leagues. Eventually it disappeared over a slight rise, but that little curve was all she could see to vary the landscape around her.

Blank. Flat. Open. Exposed. Desolate. Billa Baggins longed for the rolling, green hills of her home in the Shire. The simple, cheerful folk who would no sooner ask her to walk into a dragon's lair than sprout wings and fly. Her own garden and armchair and books. But in a secret corner of her heart, the hobbit yearned for a different kind of home. Great stone halls, dim passageways , and pillars that stretched out of sight to an unseen ceiling.

_No. The Mountain was never my home. Nor will it ever be._ Billa conscientiously ignored the way her heart ached. _Erebor is for the Dwarves._ Clouds billowed angrily overhead, and her pony plodded on, completely undisturbed by the way her heart was breaking. Images surfaced in her mind that she wished she would never see again. She knew, though, knew that the nightmares would probably never stop. The memories were seared too deeply into her mind to just vanish. Fili and Kili, avoiding looking at her, both dismayed and angry. Dwalin, shoving her backward, away from the gate. Thorin's face, pale with shock and pain, anguished betrayal in his blue eyes as he slowly backed away from her.

"How could you do this to us? To _him_?" Dwalin had looked so furious; Billa had no doubt that he would attack her if she stayed any longer. She had tried to explain, tried to apologize. "Get out!" he had roared, brandishing his ax. "Get out and never come back! If I _ever_ see you again, you'll be leaving in _pieces_!"

The gate had closed with a sound like death coming upon her. Gandalf had stopped her from pounding on the metal until her fists bled. Gandalf had stopped her from screaming herself hoarse at the battlements. Gandalf had stopped her from trying to drown herself in the stream. And Gandalf had acquired a pony for her and sent her home. She imagined there was disappointment in those old eyes.

Billa stared at her pony's ears, feeling like an empty snail shell. She could only pray that the unbearable space inside her would be filled up someday. Somehow.


	2. The Battle

Kili fired arrow after arrow into the writhing mass of ugly, but no matter how many fell, more sprang up in their place. Each orc, goblin and warg that died with his arrow in its heart or face or throat was another hobbit, screaming as it fell. Fili was beside him as always, his swords flashing in glittering, bloody arcs. He knew, as he always did, that his brother's heart was dark with pain. They fought to stay alive. Little more. An orc with a rusty helmet fused to his ugly head took the last of Kili's arrows to the eye and fell with a horrible squeal.

As the young archer sheathed his bow and drew his sword, Fili flashed him a hollow grin. They knew what to do now. It was honor guard time. Bellowing vicious battle cries, they waded into the fray side by side, heading toward Thorin. Thorin, in his gold-plated armor. Thorin, with his father's old battle-ax. Thorin, who fought with a wrath born of sorrow.

Kili knew with painful certainty that his uncle neither expected, nor desired to live through this battle. If Billa's betrayal had broken him, then learning that she'd already left for the thrice-cursed Shire had killed him. As much as Kili wanted him to live, he remembered all too well the night he had found his mother on the edge of the high eastern bridge, mad with grief. He understood too well the pain his uncle felt, losing his _sanâzyungal_, his lifemate.

He was prepared to mourn for his uncle, but he wasn't ready for this. They had only just reached him. Thorin had cleared a space around himself with the battle-ax, which now lay some distance away, the haft broken just beneath the head. Now using a long sword, Thorin was fighting a large, bare-chested orc with pale skin and disgustingly symmetrical scars. Both warriors were wounded and bleeding, but Azog had gotten a tight hold on Thorin's weapon, and was forcing him back, levering him into the ground.

There was no time for thought, for planning or strategy. Kili's world narrowed to a solitary purpose. _Protect the king._ The young dwarf sprang forward, dimly aware that his brother was right beside him. It wasn't until the Pale Orc was dead that he dared turn to help his uncle to his feet.

But Thorin wasn't in any position to be getting up. There were two long, black arrows protruding from his arched back, and he seemed to be cradling his stomach. There was an awful lot of blood around his hands as he held himself, and Kili knew his worst nightmare had finally come true. One of his loved ones was injured and dying, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.


	3. Billa's Song

Billa sat beside the grazing pony, watching the spot where her fire might have been, if she'd bothered to build one. On the one hand, she felt too tired in too many ways to care whether or not she had a fire. On the other, she was afraid. Out here on the road, truly alone for the first time in months, she felt vulnerable. In the goblin tunnels, in Smaug's lair, she had always known that there were those who would miss her. Bombur would have, at least. But now?

"I should have stayed at home," she muttered, feeling cold and miserable, and knowing that she deserved it. That was the part that hurt the most. It was her own bloody fault. "Thorin was right all along." He'd never said it per se, but it had been understood that she was thoroughly unhelpful. For each time she got them out of a tight spot, there were a dozen times that Thorin or one of the others had needed to save her sorry hide- from falling to her death or walking into a trap or getting left behind.

_"My beating heart is stolen, _

_I disdain all glitt'ring gold, _

_There's nothing can console me _

_But a dwarf that's brave and bold." _

The hobbit sang under her breath, making up the words as she went. She missed them too much. The silence was too much. The world was too much. She didn't know what else to do.

_"One ev'ning ere I found him _

_And the wind about me moaned, _

_I heard a dark voice whisper _

_'Your heart is not your own.' _

_I thought that I would keep him, _

_His hand about my heart, _

_But fires of desolation _

_Have sundered us apart. _

_The sun it shines upon me, _

_I know what's done is done. _

_My heart is not for taking. _

_That game's already won. _

_My heart is pierce by sadness, _

_As the arrow's flight foretold. _

_There's none can now console me _

_But a dwarf so dark and bold." _

Billa could feel the tears in her eyes pressing at the backs of her eyes. She wished with all her heart that she were either in Erebor or in the Shire, not stuck here in the middle. She wasn't sure she would ever be happy in the Shire, with its simple ways and its predictable, mellow sameness every day. After all she'd been through, after all the friends she'd made and the sights she'd seen- what was the point? Oh, she wanted to go back, but… to stay? To live in a hole in the ground and never see mountains or waterfalls or elves or forests or anything ever again?

She lifted her head slightly, peering back the way she'd come, back along the road to the Lonely Mountain, which still dominated the landscape. The hobbit decided she wasn't ready to leave. Not all the way. Not yet.


	4. What have I done?

Kili was trembling with exhaustion by the time the lack of noise registered in his ringing ears. He had defended his uncle's body until the last orc was dead, until the last warg turned tail, until the last goblin-shriek was silent. It was only then, as his sword dropped from nerveless fingers, that he realized something wasn't right. He felt... lopsided. He felt exposed. He felt _alone_.

The young dwarf swung around in a complete circle, confirming the truth of the growing dread clawing at his insides. He was alone. Fili was gone. His big brother had always been there, for as long as he could remember. Now that Fili was gone- where? For how long? Kili searched the faces of nearby warriors, frantic in his dwindling hope that Fili was still on his own feet.

"Kili!" Gandalf was striding toward him, looking about as cheerful as the thunder cloud. "Where is Thorin?" The dwarf stared up at him, his world falling to pieces around his feet.

If Thorin had looked bad on the ground in armor, then he looked horrible on a bed without it. Oin, Gandalf, and an elf he didn't know worked feverishly on the Mountain King's wounds, applying poultices and mumbling and exchanging serious looks with one another.

Fili was brought in not long thereafter, and Kili sat between the two beds in a little noman's land all his own. The chaos inside him settled into a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Would he lose them, all of them, in one dreadful day? Kili was still as he watched the healers work. Hours passed. Darkness fell. Members of the Company clustered outside the tent, waiting for news of their fallen leader. At last, Oin sighed and sat down, looking exhausted in more ways than one could count.

"There's nothing more to be done," he said heavily, shaking his grey head. Thorin's face was still and pale. If it weren't for the slight rise and fall of the dwarf king's chest, then Kili would suspect he was already dead. The elf looked truly dismayed, sweeping auburn locks over her shoulders impatiently.

"He yet lives. We cannot simply give up!" Her tone was passionate, and Kili's lips twitched into a faint smile. An optimistic elf. Rare breed. The dark-haired dwarf slanted a glance at his brother, unconscious and swathed in bandages. Fili would have thought it was funny.

"He lives, but has no will to continue doing so." Oin watched his king's face with a grieved expression. "He has lost his only love." The elf looked so startled that Kili nearly laughed. Trust an elf to not know that dwarves could love. He felt like he wasn't himself, detached from the turmoil he should have been feeling.

"Where is she?" The elf's voice was gentle, but even so, it was impossible to suppress a surge of anger at her words.

All at once, the pain, the grief, the fury all came rushing back, and Kili sprang to his feet, shaking with emotion. "She betrayed us! She left. If I never see her again, I'll thank Mahal." The young dwarf knew in his heart of hearts, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was all Billa's fault. If she hadn't turned traitor, then he wouldn't be alone now. Thorin wouldn't be dying.

Oin, with a pained expression, spoke the very thought that Kili couldn't bring himself to admit. "I hate to say it, but... if Thorin is to have any chance at all of recovering... we need Billa." He looked as though he wished that weren't the case, his worried eyes fixed on Thorin's still form. Kili tasted bile at the sound of her name, and turned away sharply.

Gandalf, meanwhile, gazed down at the Mountain King with an expression of tragic revelation. "What have I done?"


	5. Painful reunion

The first thing Billa was aware of was the warmth at her back. The following things came in rapid succession to her sleep-muddled brain, and didn't make a whole lot of sense. That loud noise wasn't snoring. The warmth that was standing up on four long legs wasn't Thorin. The voice that was calling to her was neither a dream, nor dwarvish.

The hobbit was still half asleep when large hands pulled her to her feet. There must have been things happening between point A and point B, but it was blastedly hard to focus. It was rather confusticating for her, therefore, when she found herself on the back of a horse. A real, Big-Folksy horse.

"What?" Billa was awake now. Awake enough to grab the horse's mane when it sprang forward, falling into a swift gallop.

There was an awful smell in her nose, and Billa sneezed. With a thrill of fear, the halfling concluded that she was being kidnapped by orcs. Immediately, she started to struggle, trying to reach her sword. One distant thought suggested hopefully that Thorin might still come rescue her if he knew she was in trouble. Another distant thought commented that the awful smell was fading, and stung like smelling salts.

"Be still, little one," said a soft voice in her ear. A decidedly Elvish voice. "The one that loves you needs your help." A large part of her was confused. The one that loved her? But buried deep in the secret corner of her heart, a voice screamed out the only answer there could be.

_THORIN!_

In just a few short hours, they covered the distance it had taken Billa and her pony two days to travel. The hobbit's legs felt like they were made of ground sausage, but she'd never been so happy to see Gandalf's grumpy old face in her whole life. The elf (whose name, she realized with dismay, she still didn't know) handed her to the Wizard, and Gandalf carried her inside a large tent that appeared to be set up on the edge of a massive battlefield. She didn't catch much more than a glimpse of the carnage, but it was enough to freeze her heart. What had happened? Where was Thorin?

Billa stumbled as Gandalf set her down, but her unsteady feet carried her toward the beds lined up against the canvas wall. She passed the ones that were occupied by Big Folk, horrified by the injuries she saw. When she reached a dwarf, she scrambled toward the head to see who it was. Fili. Her expression morphed instantly from horror to grief.

"Fili... no..." She reached for his hand, but something stopped her. In fact, something grabbed her wrist in a bruising, vice-like grip and twisted until Billa let out a squeal of pain. The halfling's bewildered gaze found Kili's and the cold fury in his face made her heart break all over again. She had hurt him. Hurt him so deeply that he didn't care that she was female or smaller than him.

"Don't touch my brother," he growled, releasing her. Gandalf towered disapprovingly behind the hobbit, and Kili lifted his face to glare up at the Wizard. "Why'd you bring her here? Hasn't she done enough damage for one lifetime?" Gandalf didn't say anything, but Oin put a hand on the younger dwarf's shoulder.

"She's our only hope to save Thorin." The healer's gentle reminder did nothing to help Kili's temper.

"He wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for her," he snarled, pointing savagely at Billa. She stepped away from him, bumping into Gandalf's legs. "Can't you let him die in peace, without bringing up bad memories?"

The halfling may have commented, but certain words had struck her like arrows. "Save?" she asked, and her brown eyes were huge in her suddenly pale face as she looked at Oin. "Die?"

Oin didn't say anything, but glanced toward Thorin's prone form. Billa nearly fell over herself as she rushed to his side, tears quickly overflowing as she fumbled for his cold hand.

"Thorin. Oh... Thorin." Her voice cracked as she chafed his hand between her own, trying to bring some warmth back into his fingers.

"He sustained grievous injuries during the battle, and... he is dying." Gandalf's tone was solemn. Billa choked on a sob as he continued. "He hangs on to life by a thread, and we thought that you..." he gave the hobbit a very serious look, which she ignored in favor of watching Thorin's face, "might be able to call him back."

Billa looked around at the Wizard, her expression torn between hope and terror. "Call him back? But.. why me? Why not Kili?" she hesitated, glancing at the dwarf, who was standing rigidly beside Oin and determinedly not looking at her.

"Because Thorin Oakenshield is not lifemated to his nephew." Gandalf sounded like he might have laughed, if not for the seriousness of the situation. Billa was stunned. She didn't even know what "lifemated" meant, but she had a pretty good guess. Turning her gaze on Thorin, she felt her heart ache in that peculiar way it did when she was worried about him, and nodded slightly.

"What must I do?"

"Stay with him, Billa." Oin's voice was gentle. He, at least, didn't seem to be overtly angry with her. "Stay with him. Talk to him. Hold his hand. Help change his bandages. If you succeed, then you'll be here when he wakes. And if not... then you'll be here to say goodbye." The deep sadness in Oin's eyes was echoed in Kili's, and she hadn't a doubt that the same look of grief was on her own face. Billa nodded again and turned her attention back to the Mountain King.


	6. Pretty Rock

Thorin lasted through the day, but showed no signs of improvement. The day that followed was the same, and the day after that. Oin claimed that it was a good thing, that before Billa had come his condition had been steadily declining, and this lack of new developments was a sign that he might yet recover. Kili thought that he was being optimistic for Billa's sake, but chose not to comment on it. Most of the other dwarves were injured as well, though none as badly. Bofur wore a sling on his arm, and Balin was sporting bandages around his head. Dwalin had a broken leg, but he was hobbling around using a crutch in spite of it.

Oin, Balin, and Bombur seemed to be the only members of the Company that were willing to forgive Billa her treachery, though they were still wary around her and never spoke of it. Day in and day out, the Company visited Thorin and tolerated Billa's presence. She was treated much as she had been for the first few weeks of their journey together- as though she were just a useless bumpkin all over again. Kili thought she deserved it, but couldn't help but notice how determined she was to stay cheerful, how often she spoke to Thorin, how tenderly she treated him, even when she thought there was no one there to see.

Days came and went. Thorin started to show signs of improvement, but they were few and small. The wound on his stomach, which had nearly killed him, healed extremely slowly, and the arrow wounds in his back (one was more of a shoulder-shot, thank goodness) tried to flare up with infection every couple of days. He might have been moved into the Mountain, but Dwalin and Kili both refused to let Billa through the front gate. Dain Ironfoot came to visit, expressing surprise that his cousin was still alive. He studied Billa seriously for several long moments, but didn't speak to her, choosing instead to talk to Thorin.

It was one evening, when the shadows were long and the chill of night was setting in, that Kili woke from a doze to hear Billa's soft voice, singing in the quiet.

_"Fire brought us together, _

_Fire fused our hearts. _

_Fire and smoke and dragon-gold _

_Have forced us two apart. _

_But now we are together _

_Through fire and ice, they say. _

_Together you and I _

_May have a price to pay. _

_Stay with me, my loved one. _

_Stay, my precious king. _

_Stay with me and live, _

_That request I sing." _

Billa made a face and sighed. "I'm sorry, Thorin. That wasn't a very good song." She stroked his hand with a sigh and leaned against his side, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. Kili frowned when he saw she was sitting on his uncle's bed. Jostling him like that wasn't good for the way his wounds healed. No wonder his recovery was so slow.

"I was thinking today, about you." She looked startled when he spoke, and looked around at him. She shouldn't have been so surprised. Oin had said that Fili would wake up any day now- there was no way he was leaving now. "I was thinking that for a hobbit that ripped his heart out and gave it to a man allied with the Elves, you seem to care an awful lot." Billa sighed. He thought she might just ignore him, the way she had done the past few times he'd tried to goad her into an argument. She surprised him when she spoke.

"I didn't rip anything out, Kili. I gave Bard the only stone out of Smaug's hoard that Thorin cared about." She looked at him and frowned. "Nothing else would have mattered. Nothing else would have given Bard enough leverage to get what his people needed."

Kili couldn't suppress an angry growl. "Of course it's the only one he cared about. The Arkenstone is his right to sit on the Carven Throne, and you gave it into the hands of a _Bowman_."

"It's a rock, Kili. A pretty one, I'll grant you that, but it's just that. A pretty stone that someone pulled out of the ground. There is nothing wrong with what I did or my reasons." She hesitated for a beat. "Well... maybe not nothing. I didn't know it would hurt him that much. I knew he'd be angry, but..." She trailed off and glanced at him. Kili was speechless with shock. Part of him was angry, to be sure, but there was a much larger part of him that suddenly understood far better than he had ever wanted to.

"You... you thought it was... just a _rock_?" He choked the words out, staring at her.

"Well... yeah." Billa looked confused. "I mean, it's pretty to look at and all, but that's really all it is."

"You do my uncle insult."

"What?"

"He would never send you into a dragon's lair after 'just a rock.' The Arkentsone is the symbol of his divine right to rule. There are clans that would have refused to follow him if he didn't have it, including Dain and his folk from the Iron Hills." Kili kept his expression serious, but there was a familiar tickle in his chest that made him want to laugh. Maybe not even at her. Just laugh. The misunderstanding was so plain now, that even her attempts at provoking him were falling flat on rapidly-cooling embers.

"I think you dwarves put far too much importance in an object. As far as I'm concerned, being king is something you're born to, not something you take from the treasure room. He is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, descended of Durin, King Under the Mountain, regardless of whether he has a pretty rock or not. That's just who he is. If people don't see that, why would we want them to follow him anyway?" She fixed him with another challenging look. Kili rolled his eyes and looked down at the still, sleeping form of his brother.

"Are you forgetting that we didn't have an army with which to kill the dragon?"

Billa hesitated a moment, and he smirked. She had forgotten. The conversation came to an abrupt end when Fili moaned softly and his eyelids fluttered.

"Where'ssat roas' beef? I ain't done wif it..."

Kili laughed. So did Billa. He was still angry with her, and thought she'd been abysmally stupid to do what she had, but it felt good not to hate her anymore.


	7. As in a Dream

After ten days in a drafty tent where the wind smelled like death and decay, Dwalin was persuaded to let Billa into the Mountain, if only for Thorin's sake. But once they were installed in the royal chambers, everything settled back to normal. As far as Billa was concerned, the only things that had changed were the smell and how much sunshine she saw. Under other circumstances, she may have been mildly upset with being trapped under a mile of rock with no way to get fresh air without leaving Thorin's side for far longer than she was willing to. As it was, she barely noticed.

Now that day and night were (for all intents and purposes) the same, Billa ceased to care about time entirely. She sat up to all hours, singing to Thorin from his bedside. She slept at odd hours, napping between visits from the Company, and sometimes through them. Kili seemed to have taken it upon himself to make sure the others knew she wasn't a traitor (although he told her more than once that hobbits must have butterflies for brains if she sincerely hadn't known what her actions meant). But really, when it was a choice between seeing their favorite burglar as evil incarnate and seeing her as having the intelligence of a mountain troll, the Company was fairly easy to persuade. All save Dwalin, who continued stumping around outside the door and looking a bit like a one-legged badger with a bad case of hives.

The fire was warm, and Billa was glad of it. The dwarves, according to Balin, had thick skins and didn't notice the cold or the heat unless it was very extreme. She, on the other hand, was rather more delicate than her friends, and had noticed that when there was no fire laid in the hearth, she had a tendency to shiver and/or be found in bed with Thorin, using him for warmth. His extremities weren't so cold anymore, and she took that as a good sign. Or maybe it was a sign that she spent altogether too much time in his bed, as Fili had pointed out earlier that day. She was singing to him again, because it was easier to sing than to talk. Today, her songs were mostly about the color green, which she didn't see much of in the Mountain. Not that she ever left his room. She didn't notice the change at first, but as she stared into the fire, there was a prickling along the backs of her heels. Someone was watching her.

Billa shivered and shot a look at the door. There was no one there, and the portal was closed. Then, hardly daring to breathe, she glanced at the bed. Thorin's blue eyes were open. They were open, and he was looking at her. She couldn't identify his expression. She wanted to hug him, to sing her joy, to dance, to yell for Oin, to check his temperature, to kiss him- but his gaze held her right where she sat, as though she'd grown roots. The silence seemed to stretch on for ages as they stared at one another. Billa gasped when she realized she hadn't been breathing for a while.

"Thorin," she whispered, and as the spell was broken, tears filled her eyes. "You're alive. Thank Mahal." She'd heard it so many times, she hardly noticed her own words. Billa remembered that she was still holding his hand and lifted it to her lips, kissing his fingers and pressing it to her face as the tears fell in fat droplets from her eyelashes.

"Billa," he whispered, and he sounded so weak, so tired, that she didn't hesitate. Flashing him a smile, she released his hand for a moment and poured him a glass of water, adding a measure of crushed and dried herbs with a practiced hand. When Thorin made to sit up, he let out a gasp of pain and she hastened to put a hand on his shoulder.

"You're still healing. Please don't move. I'll help you drink." His eyes were on her as she helped him tip his head just so and take the drink. After several shuddering moments, he relaxed, the muscles in his abdomen calming as the herbs took effect. The dwarf king sighed in relief, and Billa touched his cheek tenderly, brushing a dark lock of hair aside. All of his braids were gone. His hair had been loose when she had come, and she assumed that was how he'd gone to battle. She couldn't imagine why. She'd never seen him without braids, not even when he bathed. Not that she'd watched him bathing. Billa turned slightly pink and looked away. Why was she even thinking this?

"Why... Billa? You left." His voice, though it still didn't rise above a whisper, was filled with confusion. "Why did you come back?" She remembered him asking a similar question on top of the rocky spire the Eagles had set them on, after their first encounter with the orcs. Billa turned her head and smiled at him, and gave him the same answer she had then.

"Because you needed me."


	8. Warnings

The hallway outside Thorin's room was not a main thoroughfare. Hardly anyone passed at all, which was all the better as far as Dwalin was concerned. Despite his new position as Captain of Erebor's Guard and the duties thereof (not the least of which were training the new idiots that came daily to join and protect the reclaimed kingdom) the bald, hulking warrior spent an extraordinary amount of time stomping around outside the king's chambers and glaring at people who wanted to visit their ailing leader. Of course, most of the people he glared at were Oin, Dain, and Kili.

But it was the one he didn't see that bothered him the most. Billa Baggins, Burglar of Erebor (apparently, that was her official title now, thanks to Balin) rarely emerged from the room at all, save for a bath every couple days and occasionally for necessary evils like food and drink, which she asked him to send for. As much as he resented being relegated to acting as her butler, Dwalin was at least slightly comforted by the fact that nothing Billa sent away or had brought in passed without him seeing it first.

"Dwalin?" There she was now, peeking around the corner of the door. Her eyes looked red and swollen, and for a moment, the dwarf felt a stab of fear for the worst. Whatever else she might be (cheeky, bossy, smart-mouthed little traitor) the hobbit was a highly emotional creature, and he had no doubt that, whether she'd intended it or not, Thorin's death would bring her to tears.

"What happened?" The comforting weight of an ax in his hand would have been better than this stupid crutch. Not that an ax would do him any good in this situation.

"He's awake."

Before the meaning had really penetrated, Dwalin was pushing past her, into the room. Billa didn't stop him. She could be smart about some things, at least. So it was that the warrior stood over Thorin's bed, and was mildly surprised to see his king frowning up at him, rather than in the pale repose of death. Pulling up a stool set near the bed for this purpose, Dwalin sat down. For the first time in weeks, he felt as though he could breathe again.

"You're awake."

"People keep telling me this," grumped the Mountain King, and he tried to sit up, only to fall weakly back to his pillows with a grimace of pain.

"I wouldn't try that, if I were you."

"Thanks." Hearing Thorin's humorless quips was such a relief for Dwalin that he actually smiled.

"By my beard... she did it." When Thorin gave him a sharp look, the warrior shook his head slightly. How could one explain the hours and days and weeks he'd spent, watching Billa take care of his king? He didn't doubt her skill or her devotion, though he did wonder at her motivation.

"But why? Why did she..." Thorin glanced at the door. Billa, however, was absent. A flash of alarm crossed his pale face and he made to sit up again, but Dwalin stopped him this time.

"She's likely gone to fetch Oin. Relax."

"But... _why_?" Thorin's tone took on a plaintive quality, as of a child struggling with a concept that was beyond his grasp. Dwalin shook his head again. It was clear as day that Thorin wasn't talking about why Billa had gone to fetch the healer.

"I don't know, lad. But if ye figure it out, let me know. It's been a thorn in my side for weeks."

"_Weeks_?" Thorin looked sharply at his comrade. "How long have I-" But at that moment, Oin bustled in, followed by Billa. Dwalin stood to get out of the healer's way.

Rather than staying to watch Thorin get poked and prodded, Dwalin turned away, catching Billa's arm and pulling her out into the hall. There he pinned her against the wall with one large hand, leaning against her in lieu of his crutch, which was still by the stool at Thorin's bedside.

"Listen, and listen close, little hobbit," he growled. "I don't know why yer here, and I don't know why ye've brought him back to us, but I'm indebted to ye. Don't think, even for a second, that this changes anything- if ye put one hairy toe out of line, I'll part yer head from yer ungrateful shoulders and throw ye out the nearest window."

Billa looked startled, perhaps a touch frightened, but nodded. "I... never expected to come back," she said suddenly, and this unsolicited confession made Dwalin pause. It looked almost like she was going to start crying again.

"I never thought... once he's better, I'll go, if he wants me to. I'll go back to the Shire and never return. But..." She was blinking back tears now, and swallowed hard enough that he could hear it. "Spirits, I hope he lets me stay. I'm sorry, Dwalin. I never meant any of it. It was a stupid mistake." And before Dwalin could do more than frown, the little female dissolved into tears. The hardy little burglar that had charged down orcs and slain spiders and rescued them a dozen times over- was reduced to this. Dwalin felt a slight twinge of regret for his harsh words.

"Well... don't let it happen again," he said gruffly, releasing her and bracing himself against the wall. "And quit yer bawlin'. No one's kickin' ye out jus' yet."

"Dwalin." Oin's grey head emerged through the door, and when his eyes landed on the crying hobbit, he scowled at the guard captain. "What have ya been sayin' to 'er, lad? Shame on ya." He hastily moved over to Billa, wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders and gave her a handkerchief. When he tried to usher her back into the room, though, she resisted, saying (in a very choked sort of voice) that she didn't want Thorin to see her like this.

"Nay, don't worry about that, lass. He's fast asleep now."

Asleep. What a blessed word. Asleep. Not unconscious, or ill, or comatose. Not even the ever useful "not awake." Just asleep. Dwalin sighed. With luck, Thorin would be back to normal soon.

"'ey," he growled as the pair of them disappeared back through the door. "While you're at it, bring me my crutch. Much as I hate th' thing, I need it."


	9. Manipulation

Everything hurt. Not so much the all-consuming, fiery pain of impending death anymore, so that was an improvement. But every movement, every breath, every thought hurt in one way or another. Thorin lay on his left side, which was the least painful at the moment, and watched the hobbit move around the room. Just then, she was setting the kettle on for tea and speaking quietly to the dwarf outside the door (it sounded like Dwalin, but Thorin was unwilling to lay any gold on the accuracy of his hearing, considering how damaged everything else was). There was a pile of freshly-laundered bed sheets in the corner, and the Mountain King found himself regarding them warily, as though he suspected an orc might be hiding in them. Preposterous, of course, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they indicated he would be getting out of bed soon. That sounded painful.

"Thank you," Billa murmured, and closed the door, turning back to face him. As she always did when their eyes met, her entire posture relaxed slightly, and the corners of her eyes crinkled in secret sort of smile. Thorin wasn't sure what to think about it, but it warmed his heart to see that expression directed at him. At the same time, resentment heated his temper whenever she made those soft eyes at him. It was like she was _manipulating_ him every time they made eye contact. She smiled, and he felt a little less angry. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to be angry anymore, but if he were going to stop being angry, then by his beard, he'd do it on his own time!

"Thorin, you're going to have to sit up for a while." Billa's tone was apologetic as she touched his arm gently with one hand, indicating the armchair by the fire with the other. "I've got some tea brewing, so you shouldn't be in too much pain, but it will hurt." Thorin studied her face. She genuinely didn't want him to be in pain. His heart melted a little more, and he huffed.

"Oh, don't make that face, Thorin. You've been in those sheets for a week. I need to change them." The hobbit sounded reproachful, but when he glanced at her, there was that soft smile again. "As soon as you've had your first cup, we'll see about moving to the chair, alright?" The dwarf grunted. She was talking to him as though he were still in a coma. On one hand, he couldn't particularly blame her, considering he hadn't said more than a handful of words to her in the three days since he'd regained consciousness. On the other, he very much resented the fact that of all people, his burglar had been his nursemaid for what the others told him was something close to six weeks.

Thorin gritted his teeth and fumed quietly as Billa helped him sit up and drink his tea. It seemed like her wiles had worked on the rest of the Company, too. They had allowed her, for six weeks, to tend to him, inside his Mountain, where they had each sworn she would never be allowed. Even Kili, who had staunchly supported the idea that she ought to have been exiled officially, had softened toward the hobbit. None of them, when confronted about it, thought that Billa had been particularly intelligent about the Arkentstone debacle, but none of them were properly angry with her anymore. What was more, to the last dwarf, they trusted her again. Even Dwalin, who seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time standing guard outside the door, reluctantly admitted that if she'd really wanted to hurt them, she would have let Thorin die.

Getting into the armchair was indeed a painful process, but once settled, Thorin admitted to himself that it wasn't too bad. Nearer to the heat of the fire, some of the tight things that hurt started to relax and hurt less. He clasped a mug in the hand that was attached to his less-injured arm, staring into the dark liquid through a fringe of darker hair. Billa ruined the effect by tenderly brushing his hair out of his face. He was reminded, every time she did that, of the absence of his customary braids, and what that meant.

"I don't blame you, you know. For being angry with me." Thorin lifted his head, startled by the halfling's voice. She wasn't looking at him as she pulled sheets off of his bed. "You should be angry. I made a mistake. A horrible mistake." The dwarf fought with conflicting reactions to her words. On the one hand, her saying that he should be angry made him less inclined to be so. On the other, he didn't like how easily she could control his emotions.

Just a happy bundle of contradictions in here, he thought grumpily. Billa wasn't done. Though she didn't look at him, she kept talking.

"It was stupid of me, to think that I could just… fix things. If I can amend it, I will. You have my service, Thorin Oakenshield for… as long as you'll have it. I won't leave unless you tell me to." She hesitated, her hands stopping midway through smoothing the new sheets down. "But only if you tell me to go after you're better. I won't leave before you're recovered." He could see part of her face. An ear, a curved jaw, a pair of full lips. Even from what little he could see, there was a determination in it that rekindled his respect for the little burglar, this female, willing to defy him in order to keep him safe. He remembered the expression of terror on her face as she leapt through colored flame and stabbed the Pale Orc's warg, knocking it off balance and saving his life. She was brave and resourceful and beautiful, and stubborn and opinionated and headstrong. Thorin sighed. Which one of them was more of a contradiction?

"Kili told me," her voice was nearly lost in the rustle of blankets as she made his bed, "that you didn't intend to live through the Battle. I suppose… I ruined your plans. I won't apologize. I don't regret it." The halfling started to hit a pillow, and Thorin wondered if she was fluffing it or pretending to beat the pulp out of him. "I can't believe you would do that. After all I went through to keep you alive. I mean, I wasn't even gone for two days and you had to go on some glorious hunt for death. Bebother and confusticate you dwarves- it seems like every time I turn around…" She stopped her beating and rounded on him, as though expecting to see him with a sword at his throat. Billa relaxed visibly when he was still sitting quietly in an armchair, watching her and drinking tea.

"Like every time I turn around, I'm about to lose you again." Were those tears in her eyes? Thorin shifted slightly, uncertain if he should be feeling guilty or relieved. He was sure he didn't feel angry anymore. He couldn't bring himself to say that he had refused to live a life without her in it. Billa Baggins got under his skin and made him uncomfortable and irritated him to no end, but she was _his_ burglar. He gave her a slow nod, and Billa smiled, the tears overflowing simultaneously.

"Drink your tea," she fussed. "The bed's ready for you whenever you're ready to move back."

It occurred to him then that there was no second bed in the room. He thought about asking her where she'd been sleeping, but decided that it would be a poor waste of words, since he didn't really care. She was his. She was here. That was what mattered.


	10. Beads and Braids

"Hold still."

"That tickles."

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

"I'm the baby? Who's been complaining all morning about having his dressings changed?"

"You were being ruthless."

"You told me to be quick about it!"

"I said hold still."

"It _tickles_."

Thorin pulled gently on the hair behind her ears, and the hobbit shook her head.

"You're moving again." His deep voice rumbled darkly, and she could hear a frown in his tone.

"Well, if you'd quit tickling my ears-" Billa broke off with a yelp as the dwarf gave one of her locks a sharp tug. She turned to give him a hurt look. He frowned right back. For a moment, they glared at one another, then Billa sighed. "I'll sit still." A beat or two passed, and Thorin sighed as well.

"I'm sorry." The tension between them eased again and Billa turned around so he could keep braiding her hair. "I'm not used to… being soft." She could hear Thorin shifting his weight slightly, and couldn't help the smile that curved her lips.

"I know. It's okay."

Coronation. Billa wondered if the dwarves were just desperate for a celebration of some sort, or if it was really that important that they held this ceremony for Thorin. She knew the others had been restless, but she was still a little out of the loop, and wasn't exactly sure what was going on in the rest of the Mountain. Now that Thorin was up and about, she'd been moved into her own quarters (which was both a relief and a disappointment). Bombur visited regularly and brought food with him, since she still spent the majority of her time keeping Thorin in bed so he would recover.

"There." Thorin took a step back. She heard him wince and turned to glance sharply at him. The dwarf was leaning on a solid staff of a dark wood she couldn't identify, and… smiling? Something dawned on her and she shook her head again. There it was. Clicking and clacking around her ears. She lifted a hand and patted her hair. Small braids, three on each side, hung behind her ears. She could feel heavy wooden beads at the end of each, and guessed by the rough exterior that they had carvings on them, like Thorin's did. Thorin's beads, which were back in his hair, where they belonged, at the end of dark braids that Kili had insisted on doing for his uncle despite his very grumpy protests.

"They should be silver," Thorin muttered, sounding grumpy (as usual), and also oddly pleased, "but I haven't had the chance to make any for you yet."

"Make…?" Billa glanced at him, her heart beating a little more quickly than it should have.

"Yes, well…" The dwarf shifted, and she was amazed to see a pink flush crossing his cheeks. "It's traditional to fashion the beads with your own hands, preferably out of a precious metal that you're familiar with. Supposed to represent a piece of the one who… the one who…" He trailed off, looking rather embarrassed. Billa didn't dare to voice her hope aloud, but she couldn't stand the silence between them.

"The one who… what?" She held her breath while he hesitated again. "Thorin?"

"Well," he started again, coughing and blushing a little darker, "when a dwarf asks another to be his… wife… it's traditional to give her silver or gold beads to wear in her braids." He paused and looked at her significantly before the rest of the explanation came spilling out. "But I haven't had the chance to make proper beads for you, so I carved these instead. For the coronation, you know."

"Right. For the coronation." Billa was dazed, giddy with an emotion she wasn't sure she had a name for. "Will… will the others know what they mean?" she asked tentatively, running her fingers over the beads again.

"Of course." Thorin looked positively insulted. "I may be injured, but it's not so bad that I can't carve runes correctly."

"Runes? Is that what those are?" As she lookd at him, Thorin seemed to remember, somewhat sheepishly, that she couldn't see the beads now, nor had he shown them to her before putting them in her hair. His anger melted almost immediately.

"Yes. The beads say that you are my… chosen wife. That you will be my queen. That you will bear the children of the line of Durin." There was a note of pride in his voice, but he must have seen the alarm in her face, because he amended himself. "It's just tradition to add that in there. I understand it might not be possible. There's no record of a hobbit-dwarf crossbreed-" His rambling stopped abruptly when Billa kissed him. After a long moment, they parted and she smiled at him.

"In the Shire, we usually just ask."

"Ask?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"For the formal part."

"Oh? And what about the informal part?"

She was pleased he'd asked, because it gave her another excuse to kiss him. The dwarf was leaning against her now, and she didn't think she'd ever seen him look so relaxed without a considerable amount of wine in his belly.

"I hope that's part of it," he chuckled, and she beamed up at him.

"Not even the half of it, love. Now come on, we need to get you ready for this big ceremony of yours." She let him lean on her as she helped him back to his own rooms. Things weren't perfect, she reflected, but they were pretty darn close.


End file.
